


A Heart of Glass

by BearlyWriting



Series: RominWeek2021 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blood and Injury, Coercion, Day 5: Fuck or Die, Day 5: Sci-Fi Au, Debt, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Organ Reposession, Organ Transplantation, Painful Sex, Romin Week 2021, Sexual Coercion, Surgery, Tags May Change, Torture, Vomiting, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-27 12:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: ‘“It seems you have something that belongs to me,” Roman says, his gore-covered hand stroking lightly over Duke’s ribs. He’s still wearing that mask, and Duke can’t gauge his expression behind it. “Do you think I should take it back?”Fuck you, Duke thinks, but can’t say. He’s going to die anyway, he’s sure about that, and yet, Duke can’t bring himself to be quite that suicidal.’Janus Cosmetics is Gotham’s biggest purveyor of quality organs. Duke owes them the lungs in his chest. And Roman has come to collect.For the Roman Robin Week prompts: Sci-Fi AU and Fuck or Die.
Relationships: Duke Thomas/Jason Todd, Roman Sionis/Duke Thomas, Roman Sionis/Jason Todd
Series: RominWeek2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211252
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Romin Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if I’ve missed any tags! I found this so hard to tag 😬 Enjoy!

The thing about Janus Cosmetics is that it’s everywhere. Not just in all the advertisements that are constantly being shoved down your throat, or the fact that you can’t go two blocks without seeing one of their high-tech white marble storefronts. They’re _literally_ everywhere. Half the people in Gotham have some sort of enhancement or upgrade, or even just plain replacement for whatever part of them was failing.

It’s not just the uber-rich and their expensive upgrades that Janus cater for after all. It’s your next door neighbour with the dodgy ticker who needed a transplant after his second major heart attack. It’s little Suzie downstairs who’s lungs needed replacing thanks to the constant toxic pollution. It’s your grandma who needs a new hip or your grandpa who could do with a knee.

Even the bog-standard replacements are expensive, sure, but where the hell else are you going to get them? As long as you keep up with your payments, you get to scrape another few miserable years out of your life.

It’s when you can’t keep up that’s the problem.

Because it’s not just the white marble storefronts that you can’t go two blocks without seeing. There are at least as many enforcers. Mostly they’re just there as a reminder, but Janus has never shied away from its policy on non-payments. Can’t make three months in a row? Looks like that nice new heart of yours is coming straight back out.

Duke would know. It’s what happened to his parents, after all. After that Joker freak had gassed their neighbourhood to hell, half the people in his block had been forced to have some sort of replacement. Duke’s mom had needed a left lung transplant. His dad had gotten a new trachea (Duke hadn’t even known that was possible). He’d gotten a double lung transplant himself. Everyone knows Joker gas hits kids the hardest, after all.

Not that Duke’s a kid anymore.

Just two years later, most of Duke’s block had been repossessed. The cost of the transplants just isn’t feasible for most normal people. The enforcers had cleared out most of their building in a single day. Duke’s parents had been among them. He’d only avoided it because he’d been at school when the enforcers had come.

When he’d left that morning, his parents had been there, in their tiny little postage stamp kitchen. When he’d come back, they’d been gone, the whole house ransacked, and not a single clue as to whether they were coming back or not.

Janus doesn’t always kill. They have to get their enforcers from somewhere, after all. And people with that kind of leverage held over their head? They make pretty loyal employees.

So Duke is holding out hope, no matter how small it might be.

He hadn’t stayed at the apartment longer than it had taken him to pack a bag and go. A double lung transplant is costly - it’s where most of their money had gone - and Duke wasn’t about to wait around for the enforcers to come back and collect. The streets of Gotham aren’t exactly a friendly place, but anything is friendlier than a Janus Cosmetics extraction room.

So Duke had taken to the street and he’s been there ever since.

It’s not just Duke, either. There are plenty of Janus runaways. A couple of weeks into his self-imposed exile, Duke had gotten into a scuffle with an enforcer who’d somehow managed to recognise him. He’d only managed to escape because Riko and Dax had come to his aid. Not that he had known their names back then. They’d been complete strangers to each other and, yet, they had helped.

After that, Duke had been part of their little gang. For the most part, it had been simply about safety in numbers, but they tried to do their part where they could. If they saw enforcers bothering anyone on the street, if they heard about a raid, they always did their best to protect people.

Which is how Duke finds himself here, dangling from an enforcer’s grip, the guy he’d pulled him off of whimpering on the ground behind them. Duke has been in plenty of situations just like this. There are just a few small details that make this one noteworthy.

One: the gang is nowhere to be seen. Duke had been out looking for food on his own when he’d heard the guy shouting. He’d only seen one enforcer, so Duke had taken a risk to go and help him.

Which brings him to noteworthy point number two: there isn’t just the enforcer currently holding Duke’s head in a death grip. There are at least three more, gathered around him in a loose semi-circle, and, even worse, Roman Sionis is standing right in front of him, head cocked curiously, the black mask he’s so famous for an expressionless barrier across his face.

Duke is so, totally, royally fucked. Just who the hell is the guy he’d tried to help?

“What do we have here?” Sionis asks, voice smooth and rich but with an edge that hints at violence. “Are you friends with our good man here or just interminably stupid?”

Duke grits his teeth. Silence is probably the best option here - less chance for him to say something stupid. Because, honestly, what is the head of Janus Cosmetics doing out on the streets of Gotham, following up on a repossession like he’s some sort of common enforcer?

“Cat got your tongue, kid?” Roman asks, voice full of menace. He paces around until he can reach out and toe at the man Duke had been trying to help.

The man lets out a high pitched sound of fear and starts crying. Duke feels his own eyes burn with reflexive tears of terror.

“Please,” the man sobs. “I can pay, I swear.”

“With what?” Roman snarls. “The money you stole from me?”

“I didn’t...I - I didn’t…”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Roman says, dismissively. Then he jerks his head at the enforcers still standing in their loose semi-circle. “Take them both back to the facility.”

“Wait,” Duke tries. He can’t let Roman take him back to the facility. He can’t let Roman know he owes him. If he can just stall for long enough, maybe the gang will find him. Maybe they’ll get him out of this. “Wait, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, okay, just let me go.”

Roman either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care. One of the enforcers steps up and heaves the sobbing man into his arms. The one holding onto Duke starts dragging him towards the van parked at the entrance of the alley.

Roman turns and starts heading in the other direction. The enforcer pauses a moment, to pull the door of the van wide and, shit, this is the last chance Duke has. If he lets them take him…

In one, desperate movement, Duke slams his elbow into the enforcer’s solar plexus. The guy lets go of him automatically and Duke staggers away from him and starts to run.

He doesn’t get more than a couple of steps before someone slams hard into his back. The weight carries him forward, drives him hard into the ground. Duke’s head cracks against the concrete with a sickening slap and then the whole word goes dark and quiet.

⁂

When Duke wakes, it’s to a headache that feels like his skull is cracked open. There’s a lot of noise, too - a shrill, high sound that splits right through Duke’s head. A rhythmic beeping. Duke fumbles automatically for his alarm, but when he reaches, his arm jerks to a halt. There’s something wrapped around his wrist, pinning it to his side.

What the fuck?

Something like panic surges through Duke’s veins. Why the hell is he tied down? Where is he? What happened?

Duke tries to remember through the thick fog in his head. He’d been - he’d been looking for food, hadn’t he? Then that guy had been screaming...Duke shouldn’t have gone to help him alone but…

Fuck. Roman Sionis had been there and Duke had gotten himself caught and - _fuck_.

Duke squints his eyes open, blinking against the bright shaft of fluorescent light that immediately pierces through him. When he turns his head, trying to get out of the glare, pain throbs through his skull.

The shrill sound hasn’t abated, either. Screaming, Duke realises. Someone is screaming.

And when his eyes finally adjust, he realises why.

Duke isn’t the only one tied down. The man he’d tried to help earlier is strapped to a metal cot with thick leather restraints. He’s straining against them, thrashing as best he can, screaming in fear and agony. Roman Sionis is standing over him, blood splattered across his white suit, two hands buried in the guy’s chest cavity.

Duke slams his eyes shut again. Feels his stomach lurch and his whole body roll with the urge to be sick. The smell of blood is thick in the air - a sort of meaty, dog-food smell tinged with iron. Duke breathes shallowly through his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut, and wishes he could cover his ears.

Is this what all extractions are like? Do they do this every time: rip the offending organs out of your body while you're still awake and screaming in pain? Let you watch as they tear you apart and slowly bleed you dry?

Duke thinks of his parents before he can stop himself. Is this what had happened to them, when they’d been repossessed? Had someone stuck their hands into his mother’s rib cage and torn out her lung whilst she screamed and gurgled and choked on blood? Had someone slit open his father’s throat whilst he’d watched in horror, unable to even make a sound.

No. Surely not. This must be a special case. Duke doubts Roman Sionis usually personally attends these sorts of things, after all.

This guy must have really pissed him off.

And Duke had tried to save him. And now he’s lying here on an identical metal cot, strapped down just inches from Sionis, listening to the guy die, an expensive set of lungs that he could never dream of paying off trapped beneath his ribs.

Those lungs are working overtime right now, heaving with every panicked breath. Duke’s heart is putting work in too, pounding against his rib cage, throbbing in the sticky hollow of his throat.

Duke is going to die. He’s going to die here, screaming and hurting, without ever finding out what happened to his parents, without ever getting to tell his friends what happened to him.

A sob escapes him before he can stop it. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because Duke doubts Roman can hear it beneath the screams. And who cares if he knows Duke is crying, anyway? It’s not like Duke’s pride can save him now.

The screams die abruptly. There’s a horrible, rattling wheeze, then, silence. Duke sobs again. He’s dead. The guy is dead. And so is Duke. There’s no way he’s surviving this.

For a little while, nothing happens. Duke can hear Roman moving around through the roar of his own pulse in his ears - the swish of fabric, the wet squelch of something Duke doesn’t want to think about, little beeps and metallic clicking noises.

Then, the rap of footsteps against tile, coming closer.

Duke tries to slow his breathing a little, tries to get control of the sobs that are bubbling out of his mouth, but he can’t seem to get his body to do what he wants. He’s trembling like it’s the Arctic, rattling the restraints around his wrists, and thick, fat tears are streaking over his cheeks.

A hand lands on his chest and Duke jumps. The skin that touches him is slick with something that Duke doesn’t want to identify, warm and disgusting where it’s pressed against him. He trembles under the touch.

“Duke Thomas,” Roman says and Duke’s eyes flicker open automatically. Roman knows who he is, which means Roman knows exactly what Duke has stolen from him.

Not that...not that it’s really stealing. Having a set of working lungs shouldn’t be conditional on how much money he can afford to dump down the drain once a month, and _fuck_ Roman Sionis and anyone else who thinks it should. Duke’s parents shouldn’t have had to die because the Joker is a psychopath who gasses innocent people for fun, and Roman Sionis is an asshole who takes advantage of the people he hurt. Duke shouldn’t have to die.

“It seems you have something that belongs to me,” Roman says, his gore-covered hand stroking lightly over Duke’s ribs. He’s still wearing that mask, and Duke can’t gauge his expression behind it. “Do you think I should take it back?”

 _Fuck you_ , Duke thinks, but can’t say. He’s going to die anyway, he’s sure about that, and yet, Duke can’t bring himself to be quite that suicidal.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is: “Please. Please Mr. Sionis, I’m sorry. Please let me go.”

“There are six months of missed payments on the lungs in your chest, Mr. Thomas. I’m well within my rights to crack these ribs right open and take them out.”

As if spurred on by the threat, Duke’s ribs jump beneath his hand, heaving out a desperate, frantic rhythm. Stay alive, inhale-exhale, stay alive, stay alive.

“Please,” is all Duke can say. There isn’t any room in his head beyond the panic for much more than incoherent pleading. It’s not like there’s anything that could save him, anyway.

Roman hums. “You do beg so prettily, though. I like the way you say my name.” Fingers dig hard into Duke’s skin. “Say it again.”

“Mr. Sionis,” Duke gasps, even as his skin crawls - fuck Roman Sionis for making him do this, even though he’s going to just kill him anyway, “ _please_.”

Another hum. “I like that.” The hand slides up his chest until fingers find Duke’s nipple. Duke shrinks in his restraints, his stomach flipping at the strangely intimate touch. Roman’s black mask is utterly expressionless. “And you are a beautiful boy. It would be a shame to waste you.”

Something in Duke shrivels at that. The fingers at his chest pinch his nipple, lightly, rolling it between slick pads. Duke’s stomach feels like it’s trying to crawl out of his throat.

“But you do owe me a lot of money, son. If I let you live, I’ll need you to pay me back.”

Despite his fear, Duke’s brain latches onto that. If he lets him live. If Duke makes it through this, he might still be able to find his parents. He might be able to rescue them.

“What-“ Duke starts, then stops. His tongue feels like a lump of raw meat in his mouth. He has to swallow hard to work the words out of his throat. “How?”

“You’ll start working for me of course,” Roman says. “Repossessing people who are late on payments.”

Duke grits his teeth against the automatic denial that wants to spill out of his lips. He can’t do that. He can’t become an enforcer. He can’t tear apart innocent families the way his had been torn apart. He can’t become the thing he’s been railing against all these years. He can’t.

And yet, what choice does he have? It’s this or death. And there will always be enforcers. It’s not like Duke will be more than a single drop in the bucket. And Duke won’t be anything if he’s dead.

If he’s alive, he might be able to help. He might be able to find a way out of this - for himself and for others.

So Duke keeps his mouth shut and waits for whatever else Roman has to say.

If Roman is pleased or annoyed by his silence, it’s impossible to tell. The hand on his chest is still fondling him.

“I’ll have other jobs for you too. Your debt is...extensive. You’ll have to work very hard to pay it off.” He cocks his head. “If I let you up, will you fight?”

Duke shakes his head. At the moment, Roman is the only other person Duke can see in the room, but he isn’t stupid. He has no idea where he is or how to get out of here and he’s sure there are enforcers just a shout away. Trying to fight Sionis now would definitely be suicide, and Duke doubts his death will be quick.

“Good boy,” Roman purrs. Then his hand finally lifts to start unstrapping Duke from the table instead.

Duke lies still, trembling, until the restraints finally fall open. The moment he can, he pulls his arms in close to his chest, rubbing at his wrists where the leather had pressed into his skin. His heart is still pounding. Even though he’s free now, he’s sure whatever is going to happen next won’t be anything good.

Roman steps back a little, and it’s clear he’s giving Duke room to sit up. Duke does, carefully because his head throbs the moment he moves it. For a moment, the world spins nauseatingly before it settles. Then Duke is sitting up enough to be almost level with that black mask.

Roman reaches a blood-drenched hand out and catches Duke by the chin. Duke flinches, automatically, but stills almost as fast. Hopefully, Roman won’t be offended by the reaction.

If he is, it’s hard to tell. A thumb strokes across Duke’s skin, leaving streaks of something wet behind. Then it presses hard into Duke’s bottom lip. Duke tastes copper and has to tighten his throat against a retch.

“I think we should start with a blowjob, hmmm?”

Honestly, Duke had been expecting that. He isn’t stupid. He could see exactly where all that weird creepy touching and implication was going. Still, that doesn’t stop Duke’s stomach from dropping or his breath from hitching.

Is he really going to do this? Is he going to suck Roman Sionis off for the chance to live another few miserable hours?

It’s not like he really has a choice. He’s under no illusions about what sort of man Roman Sionis is. If he refuses, there’s nothing stopping the man from just raping him anyway, then murdering him as slowly and painfully as he’d killed the poor man Duke had tried to save.

And yet, the thought of this small modicum of participation, of not fighting as Sionis violates him, sticks in Duke’s throat.

But he doesn’t have a _choice_.

Roman’s thumb is pressing so hard into Duke’s lip that it’s going to leave a bruise. He’s still staring at Duke, that expressionless mask impassive. Duke can’t bring himself to agree, even just to nod, so he just drops his gaze instead, letting Roman read his surrender in the slumped line of his shoulders, in the deferential tilt to his head.

“Good boy,” Roman says, again, and Duke shudders.

Then Roman is tugging him off of the table and Duke lets himself sink to his knees without protest. This is happening. Fighting is only going to make it hurt. And Duke needs to get through this. No one is going to look for his parents but him. He can’t just abandon them.

If he just pulls away, if he just sinks into a deeper part of his mind and lets everything go quiet and distant, he can do this. He’s pulled away from himself before - not for anything like _this_ , but other times, when the boredom of living on the streets gets too much, or when they come across someone they can’t save, or when Duke is getting a beating from an enforcer. He knows how to make the conscious part of him small and insignificant.

Roman opens his fly with practiced ease. One hand lands on Duke’s head, rubbing through his short-cropped hair, smearing blood and viscera wherever it touches.

“I prefer it long enough to grab. You should grow it out.”

Duke’s shoulders hunch at that. The idea of Roman dictating something as minor as that - as the length of his hair, it grates. The thought of why Roman wants his hair long enough to grab makes his stomach hurt.

He can do this. He _can_ do this.

Roman doesn’t seem bothered by his silence. He just fishes himself out of his pants, dropping the hand from Duke’s head to his jaw. The same thumb presses against his lips again, but this time it forces its way into his mouth. Duke does gag this time, as blood smears across his tongue.

“Oh, you’ll have to work on that, sweetheart,” Roman purrs, which doesn’t exactly help the urge to vomit that’s rising in Duke’s throat. “You can start now.”

Then he presses his cock against Duke’s lips and Duke has no option but to let his jaw fall open and accept the thick intrusion of Roman’s cock into his mouth.

It tastes awful as it drags across his tongue, thick and musky and bitter, and Roman doesn’t give him any chance to adjust. There’s no shallow thrusting, just a constant pressure as Roman forces his way into Duke’s throat.

Duke chokes. His throat flutters, fighting against the intrusion. Not that it can put up any reasonable fight. Roman is relentless, his cock hard and huge and forcing its way in like a battering ram. Duke’s whole body seizes as his airway is cut off, his throat working uselessly around Roman’s cock.

He needs to get a hold of himself. He needs to - he needs to figure out how to just fade away, but the panic is keeping him painfully present. His body doesn’t want his brain to take a backseat when it can’t seem to figure out how to _breathe_.

Automatically, his hands fly up, fisting in the soft material of Roman’s slacks, pushing weakly against him. Roman just leans more heavily into him, thrusting deep with every stroke. Reflexive tears are spilling over Duke’s cheeks. There’s spit and snot smeared over his face. If his mom could see him like this…

No. Absolutely not. Duke is _not_ going to think about his mom while he has a cock shoved down his throat.

Just sink away, Duke tells himself, pleads with himself. There’s no reason to be present for this.

It works, a little. There’s no escaping from the feeling of Roman thrusting deep into his throat, the panic of his air being cut off, the deep, gut-wrenching sensation of violation, but the world does go a little fuzzy at the edges. The churning of Duke’s gut seems a little less urgent. The slick sounds of his mouth working over Roman’s cock and Roman’s low sounds of pleasure seem less important. Everything seems less overwhelming.

When Roman grunts, thrusting hard against Duke’s face, and empties himself right down Duke’s throat, he’s snapped back to painful reality. He chokes again, then flinches when Roman pulls out and streaks the final strings of semen across Duke’s cheeks.

At least it’s finally over, Duke thinks, blinking sticky, cum-streaked lashes. Thank god, it’s over.

Roman pets at his hair, like he’s a dog, or something. “You did good, kid,” he says, indulgently, “and I’m sure you’ll get better, the more we practice.”

Bile surges up Duke’s sore throat. The thought of having to do that again is like ice in his chest. And he knows it’ll only get worse from here. He highly doubts that a blowjob is the worst thing Roman is going to make him do.

“You’ll start the real work tomorrow,” Roman says, as he tucks himself away. “In the meantime, I’ve got the perfect partner in mind for you. Stay here.”

Then Roman is pulling away, doing up his fly and heading for the door like nothing had even happened. Like he hadn’t just kidnapped and raped Duke because he’d had the audacity to want to be able to breathe.

Duke stays where he is, kneeling on the hard tile. His knees ache and his jaw throbs and his throat feels like...well, like someone rubbed it raw, and the cum is already drying on his skin and he can’t stop crying. He doesn’t want to meet this new partner. He doesn’t want to have to start the _real work_ tomorrow. He wants to be back in the safety of his gang of street kids. He wants his parents.

Roman leaves and Duke considers, for one brief moment, getting up and making a run for it. But there’s only one exit, as far as Duke can see, and it’s where Roman had disappeared to, and Duke is certain that there are guards waiting out there anyway. This is probably a test and Duke doesn’t want to fail.

Besides, he’s tired. _Exhausted_. He doesn’t have the energy to make an escape attempt now. So he just waits, slumped on the ground, and wishes things had gone differently.

When Roman comes back, he’s not alone. Two sets of footsteps click across the tile. Duke looks up, automatically, ingrained reflexes telling him to assess the threat.

It’s no one Duke recognises. Young - probably only a few years older than Duke - white, tall and broad but not obviously enhanced. When he catches Duke’s gaze, he grimaces, obvious pity flashing across his face, and Duke’s stomach turns.

Not the best first impression: Duke on his knees, covered in blood and cum. Still, if the guy is an enforcer for Roman Sionis, he’s probably seen worse.

“Duke,” Roman calls, and Duke’s gaze snaps to him automatically, “this is Jason. Jason, Duke. You two are going to be partners from now on, so I expect you to look after him Jay, darling.”

Jason doesn’t look like he likes the idea of that any more than Duke does. “Boss,” he says stiffly, “I don’t think - you know I work best alone.”

Despite everything, Duke feels a sting in his chest at that. Even the fucking enforcer doesn’t want anything to do with him.

“I know,” Roman says, dismissively, “but I think you two will be good for each other. You can teach him your skills.”

Another grimace passes over Jason’s face then, before it’s quickly schooled into something expressionless. Duke notes how close Roman is standing to the guy, the way he has one hand plastered over the back of his neck.

Jesus, what the fuck has Duke gotten himself into?

“Besides,” Roman continues, “that apartment I gave you is big enough for two.”

“Fine,” Jason grits out. “But I’m not taking responsibility for any of his fuck-ups.”

Roman laughs, clapping Jason on the back, and the sound is loud enough that Duke flinches. “There won’t be any fuck-ups, will there darling?”

Duke has no idea which one of them he’s talking to, but he doesn’t think he can speak, anyway. Jason just grunts.

“Well,” Roman prompts, “go on then. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

More footsteps. Duke flinches again, but the hand that wraps around his bicep and tugs him upright is too gentle to be Roman. A thick arm wraps around him when he staggers, still shocky.

“Hey,” Jason says, low in his ear, “it’s alright. Let’s get out of here.”

Duke doesn’t resist as Jason drags him out. He doesn’t think he can.

⁂

It’s too generous to call the building Jason takes him back to an apartment. It’s only two tiny rooms. There’s a ratty couch in one corner, an uncomfortable looking cot in another. A door that Duke assumes leads to the bathroom and a single row of kitchen counters with a cooking hob and a squat refrigerator. There are exposed pipes running the length of the ceiling.

Duke’s family hadn’t been the richest - their apartment had been tiny, but it had been homely. This apartment looks like it hasn’t been lived in for years.

“It’s not much,” Jason says, crossing the bare floorboards to the chest of drawers leaning drunkenly beneath the window. “But there’s a shower through there.”

Duke blinks at the door he’s pointing at. The paint is peeling off, flaking white chips across the floorboards. The lashes of Duke’s right eye stick together every time he blinks.

He startles when Jason reappears at his side. A hand hovers at the small of his back, not quite touching.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Duke scowls. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I know-“

“No you don’t,” Duke says, voice hard. What the fuck does this guy know about anything? He’s a killer. It could have been him, who’d taken Duke’s parents.

Jason’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t refute it.

“Look, I know you’re feeling shitty right now -“

“Really?” Duke snaps. “You think I might be feeling shitty? After...after that?”

Jason sighs. Then he thrusts the bundle of clothes he’s holding towards Duke. It’s nothing special - standard pyjamas, but Duke is suddenly so glad to have the chance to get out of his filthy jeans.

“Look, just...wash up, okay? I’ll make dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” Duke says, stiffly.

Jason sighs again. “Fine. I’ll just make something for myself.”

Stupidly, Duke feels guilt rise in his throat. He doubts Jason wants this arrangement any more than Duke does.

So Duke takes the pyjamas and disappears into the tiny bathroom without any more complaints. The bathroom is even smaller than he’d been expecting and the water, when he finally figures out how to turn it on, is cold. But it’s so _good_ to finally be getting clean. Duke can’t stop himself from shedding another few tears.

When he emerges, dressed in the baggy pyjamas Jason had supplied, his hair damp but clean of blood, Jason is sitting on the couch, munching on a bowl of something that, Duke will admit, smells pretty good. Jason glances up at him and offers a weak smile.

“You can take the cot,” he says.

Duke swallows, trying to wet his dry throat. “Thanks,” he croaks. “Look, I’m sorry for-“

“It’s nothing,” Jason says, cutting him off, “I get it. For what it’s worth, I genuinely am sorry too. Whoever you are, I’m sure you don’t deserve _that_.”

Duke just shrugs, exhausted and a little uncomfortable with the sincerity in Jason’s voice. He perches on the edge of the cot, hoping that at least the blankets are clean. It’s not exactly comfortable, but Duke has slept in worse places.

Jason munches on his meal for a few minutes - some sort of synthetic meat stir fry by the looks of it - before suddenly saying, “I know this isn’t ideal, but you’re stuck here now, okay? If you fuck up, it’s gonna be on me, so just do what Roman asks.” A few seconds of silence whilst Duke digests that, whilst he considers the bleak future stretching out in front of him - at Roman Sionis’ beck and call. “Oh, and don’t try to run, he’ll have chipped you while you were out.”

Duke touches the back of his neck self-consciously. There’s nothing different about the skin back there - no suspicious lump or tiny scar or even a scratch - but he knows Jason is probably right. If half your work force are being held against their will, you have to have a way to keep them from running. Roman is an asshole, but he isn’t stupid.

Still, the thought of yet another way Roman has control over him, makes his stomach lurch. Suddenly, the stir fry doesn’t smell so good.

“And there are some house rules, okay, if you’re gonna be working with me. First, I don’t want to see any of that J shit around here, alright? If you wanna take it, that’s your business, but not around me.”

Duke’s face twists before he can stop it. J, the synthetic drug derived from Joker’s gas. Duke has seen plenty of J junkies before, especially after living on the street, huddled in little groups, cackling like hyenas, or slumped in doorways or alleyways, giggling softly to themselves. You can spot a long-term J addict from a mile away, from the rictus grin they usually sport, permanently etched into their facial muscles.

Duke would rather die than touch that stuff. It was Joker gas that had hurt his parents and gotten him into this mess in the first place.

He tells Jason as much and the other man grunts out an approving noise.

“Good,” he says. “Two more rules, okay?” He points his chopsticks at Duke. “When we’re on the job, you don’t use any more force than strictly necessary. I’m not into hurting people for fun.”

Duke swallows hard and nods. Good, he thinks, at least he hasn’t gotten himself stuck with one of those freaks.

“And don’t bring anyone around the apartment,” Jason continues. “If you want to hook up, or whatever, you go back to theirs.”

Duke almost laughs. He can’t imagine bringing anyone back to this little shithole, anyway. And even if he could, he can’t picture himself hooking up with anyone any time soon. After what happened, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to have sex with anyone ever again.

He shuts his eyes. _Don’t think about that_ , he tells himself. Not if he wants to sleep tonight.

Jason is silent for another few minutes. Then he stands and heads to the little...well, it’s not quite fair to call it a kitchen, and dumps his bowl in the sink.

“I’m gonna wash up,” he says, as he rinses it out. Turning the tap on has all of the pipes in the ceiling creaking ominously. “You should get some rest.”

Duke lies down and pulls the blanket over himself. It’s thin and the room is cold and Duke shivers. But he’s slept through worse.

Jason switches the light off and heads into the bathroom. Duke can hear the pipes creaking as he, presumably, washes his face or brushes his teeth or whatever he’s doing. Duke lies in the dark and tries to fall into unconsciousness.

It doesn’t work. Despite his exhaustion, Duke can’t seem to sleep. There’s too much to think about. Too much fear and disgust squirming in his gut. He doesn’t want it to be tomorrow. He doesn’t want to have to see Roman again.

Jason settles on the sofa, his own threadbare blanket wrapped around him, and his breathing evens out almost immediately. Duke tries not to feel jealous of the ease he falls asleep with.

Duke doesn’t think he’ll be sleeping tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

A moan startles Duke awake. For a moment, he’s confused. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He doesn’t know where he is or what he was doing and someone’s hurt. Someone’s in pain.

Duke blinks his eyes open. The world is blurry, but washed with weak sunlight. There’s another moan and...oh, that isn’t a sound of pain.

Something hard and thick lodges in Duke’s throat. He recognises that sound.

When he turns his head, he comes face to face with Roman Sionis. He’s sitting on the couch Jason had occupied last night, staring straight at Duke, the black mask firmly in place, his legs spread and Jason kneeling between them.

Christ. Duke shuts his eyes quickly, turning his head like he can pretend he’s still asleep. Even with his eyes shut, the sound of Jason’s effort is loud in the room, wet, slick noises that Duke remembers from his own time with his head in Roman’s lap, horrible little gagging noises.

“Morning,” Roman says, evenly, as if Jason isn’t currently sucking him off. “I trust you slept well.”

Duke can’t keep pretending after that. He sits up, slowly, still not looking over. He has no idea if Jason is...consenting, but if he isn’t, Duke doesn’t particularly want to watch anyone being raped.

“Fine,” Duke says, stiffly. He rubs at his face, partly as an excuse to hide his expression.

“Good, you’ll need your energy for your first day on the job.”

Duke’s shoulders hunch at the reminder.

“I’ve got your first assignment here.”

Roman leans forward and holds out a small tablet for Duke to take. He doesn’t lift his other hand from Jason’s head, where it’s tangled in his hair. For some reason, Duke’s eyes catch on that, on those dark strands caught between Roman’s fingers.

Roman follows Duke’s gaze and smirks. “This is what I mean, kid. Jason’s hair is the perfect length.” He uses his grip to drag Jason off of his cock, then slam him back down, as if in demonstration. Jason doesn’t react, although he does gag a little. His eyes are closed. “Although I don’t know about an afro.”

Duke swallows hard but can’t seem to dislodge the lump in his throat. Before Roman can say anything else, he reaches out and snatches the tablet. Roman takes his hand back and fists that in Jason’s hair, too, using the grip to work him bodily over his cock.

Duke focuses on the tablet and tries desperately to ignore it.

It’s a profile. An old man, grey hair and wrinkles and piercing blue eyes. His name is printed in black letters above his picture, _Gerard Staines_. Duke doesn’t recognise him, but then there’s no reason he should.

“Three months of missed payment on those enhanced eyes he has,” Roman says, his voice strained. “You need to collect.”

Duke scrolls through to the rest of the information Roman has on him. Last known location only a few miles away. Known family members. The cost of his enhancements.

Duke chokes a little at the number there. The eyes weren’t just a replacement - they’re supposed to be able to record and replay whatever they see. And they cost more than all of Duke’s family’s replacements put together. Duke can’t imagine spending that much money on something he doesn’t need. He can’t imagine gambling his life - or at least his sight - on something like that.

There’s a groan, a choking, gagging sound. Duke shuts his eyes again and grips the tablet hard enough to hurt.

After a moment, someone tugs the tablet out of his hand. When he opens his eyes, he finds Jason standing over him, frowning down at it. His lips are swollen, but other than that, there’s no indication of what had just happened.

Is that Duke’s future? Sucking Roman’s cock every morning, then picking up his assigned murder victim for the day, so used to both of those things that they barely even make him flinch anymore.

God, he hopes not.

Jason hums. Then he swipes his wrist across the surface of the tablet. The screen flashes, once, before going dark.

“Got it, boss,” he says, holding the tablet out for Roman to take. “We’re on it.”

Roman drags his eyes over Jason, then over Duke in turn. Duke shivers, feeling exposed in the thin cotton pyjamas he’s wearing. The weight of Roman’s gaze is suffocating. His skin crawls.

“Make sure you are,” he says, cooly.

Then he stands, unnecessarily straightens his suit, and pushes out of the creaky apartment door.

Duke releases a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, slumping forward in the bed. He raises one hand and scrubs it over his face. He’s still in one piece. The lashes under his palm aren’t clumped with cum. His lips, when he prods gently at them, aren’t swollen anymore. At least, not in a way that’s immediately visible.

Jason’s lips are swollen, and shiny with either spit or cum. The thought makes Duke’s stomach lurch.

Jason must read the expression on his face - or maybe his body language - because he shrugs. “You’ll get used to it,” he says, as if that’s going to make Duke feel _better_ about all of this shit.

Jason must read that on his face, too, because he rolls his eyes, then grips Duke’s wrist. Duke flinches, automatically pulling away, but Jason’s grip is like iron. There’s absolutely no give.

It strikes Duke then, suddenly, that he’s trapped in this tiny apartment with an _enforcer_. That, if he wanted to, Jason could hurt Duke as easily as breathing. That he could push him down onto the shitty little cot and do whatever he wanted. That he could hit him. Hurt him. And there isn’t much that Duke could really do about it.

The realisation is like ice in his gut. It’s just yet another reminder of how out of his depth Duke is. Of how little control he has.

“Here,” Jason says, as he swipes his own wrist over Duke’s. 

There’s a tingle between their skin, like a sharp static shock. Then a sensation like water being poured right into his skull. A confusing rush of images flash across his vision - all of the information he had seen on that pad dumped straight into his brain. It’s a disorienting shock. Nausea rises up his throat and, for a moment, he’s afraid he might be sick.

The hand on his wrist lets go, then rests gently on his back, broad and warm. “It’s okay,” Jason says, softly, “it’ll pass in a second. It’s always a bit overwhelming the first time.”

Duke gasps. He presses his face hard into his hands. “What the fuck was that,” he asks, muffled by his palms.

“It was a data transfer.” The hand on Duke’s back lifts away. “I sent the information from the pad to your chip.”

“You can - what? You can do that?”

Jason shrugs. “Yeah. It makes finding targets a lot easier. And Roman is hardly going to make a house call to every enforcer each day. He’s nothing if not efficient.” There’s a wry, bitter twist to the words.

Fuck. Duke had known about the chip. Of course he had. Everyone knows that Roman has a way to control his enforcers. Jason had even told him about it last night, as well.

But Duke had thought there was only one - in the back of his neck. That it was only to track his movements and keep him under Roman’s thumb.

He’d had no idea that it could do _this_.

It’s not even anything crazy, but the idea of any sort of enhancement sends a cold chill across his skin. For so long, Duke had scoffed at the idea of enhancements. Only rich assholes and people with nothing to lose bothered to get them. There was no pride in enhancements where Duke had come from. If you were poor, you weren’t impressed by such a frivolous waste of life.

And now Duke has one, an insidious change, right under his skin.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jason says again.

God, Duke hopes he doesn’t.

Jason moves away, and another little string of tension Duke didn’t realise he was holding in his chest, eases. There’s shuffling sounds, then a bundle of white fabric lands across Duke’s lap. An enforcer’s uniform.

“Get dressed,” Jason says, “I’ll make breakfast.”

And it’s not like Duke has any other option.

⁂

Gerard’s house is bigger than any Duke has ever seen. It’s more like a mansion, really. Jason drives them up the huge gravel path leading to the house in their white Janus Cosmetics van and Duke stares wide-eyed out of the window. Huge green trees line the length of the drive, shading the rest of the property from view.

“Only idiots would stick around if they’d defaulted on their payment for three months,” Jason grumbles as he unclips himself and slides out onto the gravel. “This shouldn’t be hard.”

A strange lump forms in Duke’s throat. His parents had stuck around in their little flat, after all. They’d had nowhere else to go. He wonders if the enforcers who’d cleared Duke’s apartment complex out had thought the same thing - that it was just a bunch of idiots who couldn’t figure out that they should scarper if they can’t pay up. An easy, five-minute job.

His fingers tremble when he releases his own buckle. He takes a deep, steadying breath before following Jason out onto the drive. It doesn’t exactly help.

Duke’s stomach is twisting in on itself, writhing around like it’s full of eels. This guy might have more money than Duke could ever hope to see, he might be the stupidest person alive, but he’s still a person. And Duke is here to basically sign his death warrant. He might as well kill the guy himself.

But he has to. There’s no way Jason would let Duke skip out on the job if it was going to reflect poorly on him. No one would. And Duke has the chip buried under his skin that will tell Roman exactly where he is if he tries to bail. Duke doesn’t particularly want to find out what Roman would do if he did try to escape. He highly doubts it will be pretty.

So Duke just needs to suck it up and get this over with. Turn off his thoughts and feelings the same way he’d done when Roman had been forcing his cock down his throat. Just get it done.

Jason glances back at him, and Duke would say he looked concerned if he’d thought the guy was capable of that. Maybe concerned that Duke _is_ thinking about running away, and what that’ll mean for him if he’s successful.

“Come on,” Jason says, eventually, “let’s get this over with.”

Then he stomps up the rest of the drive and rings the doorbell.

Duke stumbles after him, gaping. Did he seriously just ring the bell? Like - what? - they’re friends dropping by for a chat? There’s no way the guy will have missed them coming up the drive. If Jason thinks he’s going to open the door just because -

The door swings open.

Duke almost chokes on his surprise.

Gerard Staines is standing on the other side of it, looking far more worse-for-wear than the picture on his profile had been, but undeniably him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a month, dark bags sagging under his eyes, his hair a greasy nest on top of his head. He’s in a pair of ratty pyjamas that clearly haven’t been washed in almost as long and a threadbare dressing gown. Duke can smell him the moment he opens the door.

“Please,” Gerard begs, the moment he lays eyes on them. “I know why you’re here, but I can get the money, I swear. Just give me another -“

“You’ve had three months Mr. Staines,” Jason interrupts, cooly but not unkindly. “I’m sorry to do this, but you know we have to take you in.”

“No,” Gerard shouts, stumbling backwards, shaking his head desperately. “No, you don’t have to. Please, have some compassion. My - my kids -“

Duke’s stomach lurches.

“You don’t have any kids Gerard. Come on, don’t make this difficult. If you come with us, Mr. Sionis might consider letting you live.”

The words are so cruel, so awful. But Jason says them gently. The way he speaks, Duke could almost believe he was talking to a friend. It’s nothing like the enforcers Duke has known, who hadn’t spoken beyond sharp orders and cruel taunts. And yet, he can’t forget what they’re doing.

Gerard trembles. His eyes - the enhanced ones that had gotten him into this situation in the first place - fill with tears. Duke wonders, a bit morbidly, if they’re capturing this. If they’re storing the recording away somewhere, Gerard’s final moments saved for all eternity.

Finally, his shoulders slump, and even Duke can read the acquiescence in his body.

“You’ve made the right choice,” Jason tells him, gently. “Fighting only makes it worse.”

He holds a hand out for Gerard. The man doesn’t take it, but he does shuffle forward, allowing Jason to guide him back to the van. Duke shores up the other side, both of them walking on either side like his bodyguards or something. When they get to the van, Jason helps Staines into the back, then jerks his chin to tell Duke to get back into his seat.

Duke does so, numbly, trying to ignore the quiet crying coming from the van behind him. Jason had been right. That can’t have taken more than five minutes.

Duke wonders if his parents had gone as easily. If they’d fought. If they’d tried desperately to stay for Duke, or if they’d thought the best thing to do was get the enforcers out of the apartment as quickly as possible. He wonders if the men who’d come for them had been as kind as Jason, or if they’d taunted his parents. Hurt them.

“They’ll say anything,” Jason says, snapping Duke out of his thoughts, “if they think it’ll get you to back off. You just have to ignore them.”

Duke nods, feeling weak and sick. How many people have begged Jason for their lives? How many people has he shuttled to their death?

“Some of them will offer you everything under the sun, but they’re all liars, okay. If they could do anything for you, they wouldn’t be defaulting on their payments. Just bring them back to Roman and let him deal with them.”

All Duke can do is nod again. He has no idea what to say. No idea what he could say - if he could even open his mouth without all of his disgust and horror spilling right out.

Jason glances at him, maneuvering the van around and heading back down the drive in a few smooth movements.

“I know it’s hard,” he says, eventually, once the mansion has disappeared from view behind the trees once more. “But you just have to do it. Someone would be bringing them back to Roman, anyway. It’s better if you do it. At least you can be nice.”

Would knowing that the enforcer who had taken Duke’s parents had been nice make Duke feel any better about the fact that they’re gone? He honestly isn’t sure.

He doesn’t think anything could.

But, sitting next to Jason, the sound of Gerard’s quiet crying filling the space between them, Duke doesn’t think it’s a very good idea to say that.

⁂

“Well done,” Roman says, once Gerard has been safely dropped off at the facility where his eyes will be removed and Duke and Jason have been ushered into his office for their debrief. “A good first start.”

Jason is tense next to Duke, all hard muscle. Duke, in comparison, feels weak as jelly. Just standing in front of Roman has his hands trembling. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home.

“The kid did well,” Jason says, a little stiffly, as if Duke had actually done _anything_. “But practice makes perfect.”

Roman smiles, slow and indulgent. “So it does.” 

He stands, stalking around the desk until he’s close enough to cup a hand across the back of Duke’s neck. Duke stiffens beneath the touch. An awful sense memory of Roman’s hands on him, of the heavy weight of him in his mouth, the bitter salty taste of him, flashes across Duke’s brain.

“But I think Duke deserves a little reward for his first successful repossession, don’t you?”

Duke swallows thickly. The eels in his stomach haven’t died. In fact, they’re writhing around in there with a vengeance. He’s under no illusion that this reward spells anything good for him.

“It’s his first day,” Jason says, in a hard voice. “I think he should do a little more to earn a reward.”

Despite everything, Duke feels a stab of annoyance at that. Even in the short time he’s known him, Jason has cycled through friendly helpfulness and pity, and stiff disdain. Duke has no idea what Jason actually thinks of him.

Roman laughs. “So unfriendly. Don’t worry, darling, I won’t forget your reward, either.”

If anything, Jason only gets tenser at that. “Why don’t I take mine now?” he says, through gritted teeth. “The kid can go home and collect his later.”

“Jason.” Roman’s voice has gone ice cold. The edge of danger is so sharp that Duke winces. “Don’t get difficult with me, darling. Go finish the rest of your assignments and let me worry about our little friend.”

For a moment, Duke thinks Jason is going to argue. His jaw is clenched so hard that Duke can practically hear his teeth grinding. Then he seems to slump a little.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sionis, you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Roman says, his voice a low purr in Duke’s ear. “Off you go then, I’ll talk to you later.”

Jason turns, stiffly, and leaves without any further protest. For some reason, that has Duke’s stomach clenching. Why should he feel safer with Jason here after all? The guy is an enforcer. Just this morning, he’d been sucking Roman’s cock in their apartment. There’s nothing to suggest that Jason staying would protect Duke in any way.

And yet, he’d been trying to spare Duke whatever is about to happen, hadn’t he? The reward they were talking about - it’s not actually going to be a reward. Duke can feel the intent in Roman’s gaze, the heavy press of his fingers. Had Jason been trying to save him from that? Or maybe Jason genuinely _likes_ Roman. Maybe he really had been jealous.

Not that any of it matters. Who cares what Jason’s motivations were, when Duke is stuck here with Roman, about to - to suffer through whatever is going to happen?

“I’m glad you didn’t try to run, kid,” Roman says, once the door has clicked shut behind Jason. “It really would have been a shame to waste a body like yours.”

Duke can’t look at Roman. He can’t look into that grotesque black mask and see the lust there. It’s bad enough feeling it - feeling the heat of Roman’s gaze against his skin.

He shivers, then immediately wishes he hadn’t. There’s no way Roman missed the reaction.

The hand on the back of his neck lifts, only to be replaced by a single finger, stroking gently down the length of his spine, right over where the chip is buried under his skin. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it would be oh so fun to tear you apart, bit by little bit. But there are so many other fun things I’d like to do first.”

Bile surges up the back of Duke’s throat and he has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. It’s so easy to imagine, Roman standing over him, his hands buried under Duke’s skin, red everywhere, screams and pain and Roman’s skull-like grin. Duke had seen it, after all. He’d been strapped to a cot while Roman had torn that man apart.

Duke isn’t going to run. He can’t risk that. Even if he was proud enough, stupid enough, to risk the agony of being tortured to death, he can’t abandon his parents like that. No one else is going to save them.

Roman steps away, moving back around the desk to settle in his large leather chair. Duke lets out a quiet sigh of relief. His skin crawls where Roman had touched him. His heart is pounding in his chest.

There’s a clink of ice, the glug of liquid being poured. Duke’s eyes snap automatically to the glass as Roman raises it to his lips and takes a long, satisfied sip. Roman’s throat bobs. When he sets the glass back on the desk, his tongue slides out from between his teeth, like he’d be licking his lips if the mask had any.

“Come here,” he says, low, dark eyes fixed on Duke.

Duke considers refusing, then immediately dismisses the idea. It would be stupid to risk Roman’s ire now.

So he forces numb legs to move, carrying him around the desk and all the way to where Roman has pushed his chair back, giving Duke room to step between his spread legs. Even though Duke is taller than Roman like this, looming over him where he’s leant back in his chair, he feels small. The position doesn’t give him any power here.

One hand slides up his thigh, edging up towards the crease of his groin. Duke stands motionless. Every muscle in his body is drawn taught. He so badly wants to slap Roman’s hand away. Wants to jerk back. Wants to yell and scream and get Roman the _fuck_ away from him.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. Just stands there, uselessly, as Roman squeezes the meat of his thigh almost consideringly.

“You could enhance these, you know. Premium muscles are a popular choice. Or reinforced bones, maybe? Never break anything again.”

The hand skirts up - thankfully avoiding his groin - until it’s pressed over his belly. Duke’s muscles twitch and flex beneath the touch.

“How about a stronger stomach?” Further up, tickling his ribs, stroking over Duke’s nipples through the material of his enforcer outfit. “Better lungs maybe? Your replacements are cheap shit. You could get lungs that filter out toxins in the air. Lungs that let you breathe underwater or survive in space.”

Fingers wrap around his throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to have Duke’s breath hitching.

“A voice box to make you sound like an angel? Eyes that can see the future? Teeth that will never decay?”

Revulsion churns in Duke’s stomach. “I don’t want anything from you,” he grits out, past the awful obstruction around his throat.

Roman huffs a laugh, fingers tightening painfully for a second. “And yet, those are my lungs in your chest, boy. You owe me.”

Finally, the fingers release his throat. But it’s hardly a relief, because Roman just drops his hand, pressing it between Duke’s legs instead, cupping his cock with rough fingers. Duke does jerk away at that, making a tight, protesting sound at the back of his throat.

The desk at his back stops him. Roman’s hand doesn’t loosen its grip. Duke’s chest is so tight Roman’s fingers might as well still be wrapped around his throat.

“Please,” he manages, and isn’t even sure exactly what he’s begging for.

Even with the mask, he can tell that Roman is grinning. The hand finally releases him.

“Turn around kid,” Roman orders, “and bend over the desk.”

No. _No_. Duke isn’t stupid - he’d known this was coming. He’d known, right from the beginning, that this was an inevitable conclusion. And yet, now he’s here, Duke can’t handle this. He can’t bend over the desk and let Roman do this to him. He’d rather suck Roman’s cock again. He’d rather die.

Except, that isn’t true. Duke doesn’t want to die. And if he doesn’t want to die, he’s going to have to do this.

The knowledge settles like a stone in his gut. It creeps like liquid lead through his veins, heavy and sluggish. It feels like his whole body is weighed down by it. When he turns, it seems as though it takes every last dreg of energy he has.

As slowly as he dares, he lowers himself over the desk. His hands are gripping the edge hard enough to hurt. He can feel his heart crashing in his chest, pounding against the wood beneath him. Already, his fingers are slick with sweat.

Behind him, he can feel Roman stand. Two hands settle on Duke’s hips before Roman presses himself close. A horrible lump forms in Duke’s throat. He can’t cry. Not yet. Not because of this.

“Good boy,” Roman purrs.

Then Roman yanks his trousers down in one practiced movement.

Duke yelps. Automatically, he tries to push himself up, but a heavy hand on his back slams him down again. His breath catches in his chest.

“Please,” he begs again. “Please don’t do this. I can - I’ll do anything. _Please_.”

Roman makes an amused sound behind him. A hand grips the cheek of Duke’s ass, bare flesh against flesh. “You’ll do whatever I want, sweetheart. And right now, I want you to lie there and take it like a good little boy.”

Then, before he can protest, two dry fingers spear into Duke.

It’s a sharp shock. A strangled cry catches in Duke’s throat. His back arches automatically, bucking against Roman’s heavy hand. The man ignores it entirely, wedging his fingers into Duke in rough, impersonal strokes.

It hurts more than Duke would expect. Not that - not that he has any frame of reference for this, beyond the terrible memory of Roman huge in his throat. Each press of Roman’s fingers _aches_. Duke grits his teeth hard against the pain but can’t stop the pathetic little whimpers that are crawling up his throat.

The only relief is that it doesn’t last long. Although, maybe that isn’t really a relief, because the fingers are replaced almost immediately by Roman’s cock.

“Shhh,” Roman shushes, in response to the high, agonised sound that’s forced out of Duke. “Good boy.”

Nothing about this feels good. If Duke had thought Roman seemed big before, when he’d pressed himself into his mouth, it’s nothing compared to now. Every thrust feels like it might tear him apart. Each press of his cock is like a knife. Duke can feel it all the way in his throat. 

Vaguely, he’s aware that he’s crying. Hot tears streak over his cheeks, dripping off of his chin and wetting the wood below him. He tastes salt. Above him, Roman is groaning, murmuring sick shit in Duke’s ear. Not that Duke can really hear it over the roar of his pulse in his ears, or the rush of each breath as he gasps, punched out of him with every thrust.

“Stop,” he begs. “God, please, it _hurts_.”

A hand wraps around the back of his neck and forces his face into the wood of the desk. Duke shuts his eyes, feeling more tears squeeze out, and tries to force his body to relax. It will hurt less if he does. He knows that, in a distant sense. But it feels impossible. How on Earth can he relax when he’s being raped?

Oh god, he’s being raped. 

_Don’t,_ he tells himself. _Don’t think about it_. As if he can think of anything _but_ the agony of Roman forcing his way inside him.

Duke can’t tell how long it lasts. It feels like forever, but he knows it can’t actually be that long before Roman stutters over him, pressing himself close and spurting hot seed up inside him. It burns as it hits the torn skin of Duke’s insides and Duke sobs, feeling acid at the back of his swollen throat.

But it’s over. Thank god, it’s over.

And Roman doesn’t drag it out. He groans low in Duke’s ear, then pulls away. Duke shivers at the sudden loss of his body heat. Something hot trickles down his thigh. Blood, probably. Or maybe semen.

“Well done,” Roman says, as Duke pushes himself upright and fumbles for his trousers with shaky hands. “A good first day.”

There’s another clink of ice as Roman sips his whiskey again, as casual as if he hadn’t just brutally raped Duke over his desk.

“I expect you to keep this up, okay?”

Duke nods, numbly, because he isn’t sure what else to do. He wants to leave. He wants to go back to that shitty little apartment and curl up and pretend this didn’t happen. He wants his mom.

“And don’t think you’ll be getting out of assignments early again. This was a once off. In future, you don’t get your reward until you’ve done a full day of work.”

Reward. Duke would laugh if his throat wasn’t sealed shut. As if this is anything but some cruel and unusual punishment for something Duke can’t even understand. 

“Go on then,” Roman says, and Duke doesn’t need to be told twice. On shaky legs, he moves towards the door. Each step hurts, sending sparks of pain up his spine, but Duke isn’t going to stay here a second longer than necessary.

“And Duke,” Roman calls, as he fumbles for the doorknob, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

⁂

The apartment is empty when Duke finally makes it back - something he’s unspeakably grateful for. Jason must still be out on whatever job he’d had to pick up. Which means that Duke can have his little breakdown in peace.

The first thing he does is throw up the meagre contents of his stomach. Then he strips out of the ruined uniform and turns the shower on full blast. He doesn’t bother waiting for the water to warm up - it isn’t going to. The pressure, even cranked as high as it can go, feels like barely more than a trickle. Even scrubbing as hard as he can at his chilly flesh, it doesn’t feel like enough to wash the filth away. Between his legs, the water runs pink.

When Duke finally emerges, after the water pressure has slowed to practically dripping, his skin is cold as ice. He wraps himself in the threadbare little towel he’d used last night. When he rubs it roughly over his skin, the pain actually feels good - like it’s doing something, scraping off some of the filth, maybe. It helps get his blood flowing again, too, pins and needles prickling over his arms and legs.

Once he’s dry, he slips into his ratty pyjamas, bundling up the enforcer uniform and shoving it into one corner of the bathroom. He has no idea how Jason does the laundry around here, but he doesn’t want to deal with that right now. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

He does take a moment to shove some of the thin toilet paper into his pants before he leaves the bathroom, though. He’s pretty sure he’s still bleeding and he doesn’t want to make a mess of the bed. There’s so little stuff in the apartment, ruining one of the few pieces of furniture they have isn’t an option.

The thought sticks, bitter, in his throat.

He isn’t hungry, and even if he was, he has no idea where Jason keeps the food or how to operate the little kitchen, so Duke simply slinks to the cot and slides beneath the blanket. Then he curls up, closes his eyes, and tries to force himself to sleep. Just make his mind blank.

There’s no need to think about what just happened. No reason to think about anything.

If only it were that easy.

By the time Jason returns, Duke has managed to slip into a sort of doze, not really sleeping but not really conscious either. He startles at the sound of the door opening, his heart racketing in his chest. He sits up before he really thinks about it, uncomfortable with being on his back when he can’t see who’s coming. Pain spikes up his spine. He groans.

“It’s just me,” Jason says, voice pitched low. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Duke grumbles. The reminder of what had happened, no matter how brief, has left him feeling ill and weak. He draws the blanket up around him and shivers.

Jason doesn’t reply to that, but he does come into the apartment and beelines straight for the bathroom. Duke sinks back until he’s lying down again. The pipes creak as the shower turns on. Duke tugs the blanket all the way up to his eyes and tries to squash the desire for another shower of his own.

Jason doesn’t take long. When he emerges, he heads to the kitchen rather than settling on the couch. Duke is unreasonably grateful for that. He doesn’t want to talk to Jason. He doesn’t want to have to talk to anyone.

There’s a clatter of plates. The hum of an electric hob turning on. Then the smell of synthetic meat fills the air. Duke’s stomach turns and he burrows a little further into the blanket to try to avoid it. 

A little while later, a hand touches his shoulder. Duke hadn’t realised he’d drifted off again but he jumps into terrified awareness at the touch. Jason’s face looms above him.

“Sorry,” Jason says. His hand lifts, hovering in the air like he’s trying to prove he’s not a threat. As if that’s supposed to make Duke feel better. “I made you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Duke growls. His stomach is tight, although he can’t tell if it’s hunger or anxiety. Either way, he doesn’t think he can eat right now.

Jason’s face twists, both pity and annoyance flashing across his expression. “You have to eat,” he says. “Starving yourself isn’t going to help.”

Duke turns away. “Nothing’s going to help,” he mutters, feeling sick and sorry for himself.

Jason makes an aggrieved sound. “Look, I know-“

Anger rushes through Duke so strongly that he almost chokes. Anger at Jason, at Roman, at himself - at this whole shitty situation. Anger, for a brief, nauseating moment, at his parents, for leaving him here. For not protecting him. For giving him something to keep fucking living for.

“No you don’t,” he snaps. “You don’t fucking know anything about me.”

Jason’s face tightens. “Maybe not, but I know how you’re feeling right now. And I know that slowly killing yourself isn’t going to help.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think you know,” Duke growls. “I don’t want to hear what you think. You’re a killer. For all I know, you were the enforcer that took my parents.”

It’s an unnecessarily personal revelation. There was no reason for him to tell Jason about his parents. It’s not like Jason will care. It’s not like Jason deserves to know.

Jason sits back. “You think I want to be here, doing this - any of this - any more than you do? I do what I have to, just like you will. Just like you have.”

Something in Duke’s stomach twists. The knowledge that Jason is as trapped as he is - that when he was sucking Roman’s cock this morning, it was with as little choice as Duke had done - is not something that Duke had wanted to know. He doesn’t want to feel sorry for Jason.

“You’re still here,” he says, quietly.

For a long, stretching moment, Jason is silent. Then, just as quietly, “So are you.”

And it’s not like Duke can say anything to that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat!


End file.
